


Beautiful Things

by iloveyoudie



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 13:04:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15797106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloveyoudie/pseuds/iloveyoudie
Summary: Voices and laughter echoed off of the stones and reverberated through the closely packed houses. Folks waited, glued to their watches or clocks to ensure they wouldn’t miss it, even if there was no chance they could. They all united, in these fifteen minutes, on a singular bated breath as they waited to ring in a new day.





	Beautiful Things

**New Years Eve**

**11:45PM**

"FIFTEEN MINUTES, YOU LOT!" A very drunk young doctor cried out above the din of the New Years Eve party. The news rippled outward in softer yells until all present had heard and as a result, began to move. They took time to refill drinks and distribute flutes of champagne, to pick up noisemakers and paper hats from where they lay scattered about the house. Most headed to the parlor where the television was set to a low volume and the live broadcast was already playing.

A few folks opened the front door into the chilly winter air. Light poured out into the street as a few more stepped down onto the stairs and lit smokes while they waited. More doors began to open up and down the street as similar scenes played out all over the entire neighborhood. Voices and laughter echoed off of the stones and reverberated through the closely packed houses. Folks waited, glued to their watches or clocks to ensure they wouldn't miss it, even if there was no chance they could. They all united, in these fifteen minutes, on a singular bated breath as they waited to ring in a new day.

**10PM**

Morse was alcohol warm and unreservedly comfortable. He was more comfortable than he'd been in a crowd in a very long time. He didn't usually accept invitations to these sorts of parties except that it had been Max who'd asked and from the second he'd stepped through the door it was clear that Debryn's friends were a good and welcoming group. The party was lively, but not too much so, and the amount of people was manageable instead of intimidating. They were diverse and open minded, intelligent, and engaging. There was also something else he couldn't put his finger on, something intangible and _unique_. He was reminded of his first days at college when everything was new and exciting. The world had been small and grey before he'd come to Oxford but suddenly there was color in each new voice, face or idea. There was so much _more_. It was easy to get swept up in the energy.

The more he sat amongst this company the nicer it felt to be somewhere different, somewhere away from the same daily routine and the same bland faces. Morse knew that he had willingly chosen his morally upright day to day life. He'd picked this path for himself, this career, but didn't that make him one of _them_ now? He was one of the drudging adult working class, even worse he was _the law_. He'd committed to the same suits, the same hours and the same faces day after day. He'd chosen the ever constant repetition of crime and of dealing with the worst humanity had to offer.

The constable huffed at himself. It was no wonder people called him a square. Maybe he did take himself too seriously. The truth was that he liked his suits and he liked being a detective. He even enjoyed the bit about righting wrongs, or trying his best to, and keeping justice maintained. It was important.

_Several drinks in and he was already too introspective.... Relax, Morse. Enjoy this._

Willing his mind away from himself, he realized that everyone here likely felt the same. They all were out there, upright and responsible, every day of the week. The more he looked, even with the fuzzy detachment of mild inebriation, the more he recognized faces. The guestlist was a satisfying cross section of Oxford society, most connected in one way or the other to the hospital. Doctors mingled with court secretaries and the rare policeman was chatting up a file clerk or nurse. He was nearly ashamed that he didn't recognize his few colleagues outside of their uniforms. Everyone was acting out their own roles in the 'real' world as productive members of society, but here they had found a camaraderie that allowed them to be just a bit more themselves, a bit less constrained.

Max was at the center of it. His house and his friends, a selection of human beings that passed his inscrutable standards to be brought together and create this moment in time. Even Max was different here, his signature bowties didn't seem so tight and his movements were loose and languid. Max chattered and drifted, touched arms and backs as he passed. He laughed easily and whispered closely and even sitting in a corner alone he seemed content to watch and let the energy wash over him. For someone who chose and seemed to enjoy working with the dead, he had no trouble thriving here amongst exuberant life. For every second Morse spent in Debryn's company he learned more about him and was never disappointed.

He glanced down at his glass, realizing once again that he was being introspective. Though Morse was sure it had been nearly empty, his drink was full again.

**9PM**

"Shall we have a turn about the room, my dear Morse?" Max affected a playful formality as he stole the constable from the door the moment he arrived. His coat was spirited away and a drink found its way into his hand as the pathologist's fingers curled around his elbow and Max began to show Morse around the house with casual flourishes of a rather attractively garnished gin and tonic. A grand tour was unnecessary but Max felt it was important to fill him in on the notable characters and relevant gossip as they drifted through each room. With each new scene, Max squeezed Morse's arm and highlighted the cast. There was the musician who'd just lost his girlfriend (in case he went too far into a bottle, a definite possibility according to Max) and in the parlor was a very close circle of students who were having heated debates on pretty much anything any of them could come up with. They were loud and Morse had to lean close, conspiringly so, for Max to explain the intricacies of their intense competition and which of them were _entangled_. Normally Morse didn't care for gossip outside of an investigation but Max had a tendency to break it down in such a way - more of a _social biopsy_ \- that made it all the more interesting.

Max inevitably had to go mingle and eventually left Morse to his lonesome. He drifted room to room only to find himself, in one way or other, pulled into the activity of the moment. First he sat in on a round of pinochle with a pretty nurse named Leticia. The pair of them beat the pants off of a set of twins who he had caught cheating repeatedly to the raucous delight of all present. Leticia had been good for a chat and a bit of cheeky flirting before she drifted off into the crowd herself. Morse didn't feel the usual disappointing pang when a pretty woman left his company. There was simply too much going on to dwell on it. The kitchen table drew him next, some sort of invented game that revolved around jigsaw puzzling and included both betting and friendly sabotage. Before he knew it he'd been there for a half an hour and a fresh drink had appeared in his hand.

**11PM**

_Everything was lovely._

Morse had hit his stride, his ideal level of functional drunkenness. He was at the stage where he was confident that any decision he might make would be the correct one, any thought he had was perfectly valid, and suddenly the number of thoughts in his mind were narrowed, blissfully, to just the ones right in front of his nose. He sunk into half of a loveseat and simply basked in it.

Of course his natural inclinations as a detective could not be so easily suppressed. As he leaned his head back into the sofa, wishing very briefly that there were a good record playing, he watched the room. This party was nothing more than a social play, or opera as he preferred, and after spending time in their company he more fully appreciated the cast and the plot. Morse was finally able to pick up the small cues of who were couples and who wanted to be. There were glances and gestures and smiles and he rose and fell with the movements. _In vino veritas._

Morse discovered that there was an unspoken code here, no judgement and only respect, and in that the affections flowed freer and weren't as bound by socially dictated norms. He was well acquainted with the notion that love wasn't a rigid thing. He also knew that Max was what some called a 'confirmed bachelor' so it didn't surprise him to find the man kept a strict code of acceptance in his home, and an expectation that they all hold each other's confidence. If you were here, you were trustworthy. It was a further enlightenment to realize he was included in that.

Morse sometimes wondered how much of he and Max's friendship was a silent draw they had to one another, a silent understanding. Attraction came in many forms, physical, emotional and intellectual and they'd clearly given one another favor of some kind from the very beginning.

As he sat on the loveseat and mulled, a soft smile painted across his face, he was joined by Max's weight sinking warmly in beside him, "Enjoying yourself, Morse?"

Morse nodded an agreement, "I like your house," his head rolled to look at Max, "and your friends. Very interesting group."

"The ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it," Max gave him a side eyed glance and a smile, "Thank you for coming."

Morse ducked his head with a smile and a nod before he took a sip of his drink. He gestured to a nearby pair of men wreathed in cigarette smoke furiously gesticulating while they argued The Rolling Stones versus The Who. He'd been listening for a while now and it was taking all of Morse's energy not to interject his own two cents, "Awful lot of know-it-alls in this bunch as well.."

Max gave Morse a deadpan stare and reiterated with a pointed head tilt, "I'm glad you came, Morse."

Morse laughed at that and after another second of pursed lipped staring, Max did also.

The doctor's hand rested on his knee then, briefly squeezing, "I hope you realize it's not all work and gallows humor with me by now."

"Yes, I'm figuring that out," Morse chuckled and smoothed a hand through his hair. The curls got more unruly the more he drank.

"Always leave death at the door," Debryn pushed himself up on Morse's knee, wavered lightly on his feet and then steadied himself before he let go to resume his mingling. He gestured to the room, "This is for the living, hm?"

  **11:50 PM**

"Ten Minutes-" Someone grabbed him to pass the message along as the crowds shifted. Morse hadn't quite decided where he should settle for the countdown. The parlor was crowded and the front door was filling up with people who wanted to get outside into fresh air. Smoke, by this point, hung heavy in the air and a bit of a breeze would do wonders for the house. Normally he'd slip out, avoid the raucous build up and take the strike of midnight on his own, out under the sky.

Morse also became keenly aware that people were more obviously pairing up. What was a New Year without the accompanying kiss? It would've been nice to have one of his own, someone to hold a little closer and laugh with and feel like there was a whole fresh year to look forward to… but he was doing well not to wallow tonight. His alcohol consumption was currently perfectly balanced to appreciate things as they were - nothing more and nothing less.

A hand on his elbow pulled him from his mindless wanderings and Morse smiled at the reappearance of Max at his side. The doctor was down to his rolled up shirtsleeves and braces and his ears had taken on a ruddy pink shade, a combination of warmth and drunkenness. Max now held both a glass of champagne and an unlit cigarette. The look was positively endearing.

"Ten minutes!" Morse leaned to him, talking loudly above the sound of the room, "Probably less now I'd suppose. Eight minutes?" He noted with a small laugh and couldn't help plucking Max's collar lightly, "You lost your tie!"

"I'm sure it's wherever my jacket is.." Max looked around momentarily before it was back to Morse, "Poker isn't really my game…" The shorter man shrugged and began looking for an exit, "You look like you need an escape as much as I do. Come along, Morse."

Morse was tugged by the elbow. He wasn't being asked, Max was telling him, and he let Debryn's arm slide around his own to pull him along into the hall. He was only released when they took to the stairs and had to squeeze past a few people who'd perched themselves there. The second floor was less busy, though hardly private, and Max weaved back and forth with his drink sloshing dangerously but never spilling. The cigarette, still unlit, was now tucked behind a pink ear.

Morse, if asked to remember the walk, wouldn't really. The edges were smudged, blurry and uninteresting. Fueled by curiosity and benefiting by the narrow focus of inebriation, Max had his undivided attention. He had a vague awareness that they had entered into a bedroom through the only door on that floor that was closed. First they were on the stairs, then opening the door, and then suddenly he was leaning against the railing of a tiny balcony enjoying the crisp evening air. The temperature change was welcome, though not enough to sober him. Morse glanced behind him to the bedroom that he didn't remember walking through and then back out to the street. They weren't high enough to see all of Oxford, nor even a small bit of it, but the sky above was clear and the moon was bright and Morse appreciated it immensely. He wasn't even uncomfortable with the height.

"Not too high for you? It's the best view in the house," Max leaned beside him. It was said with an equal measure of sarcasm and pride, because the view itself was not impressive but it was _his_. It was just the block you could see, the roofs and in the far distance a church. But the sky still spread out above them, inky and infinite.

A few meters below them guests milled about on the stoop and sent distorted black shadows stretching out into the street. On the balcony they were just far enough away that it wasn't bothersome but they could still eavesdrop if they so pleased.

"It's lovely," Morse was genuinely charmed. He'd never really expressed his desire for a house of his own, a place to fill with books and music and, if he was truly lucky, share with someone else who fit there with him. He didn't notice that complimenting Max on his home had the doctor looking rather flattered and a bit more pink.

Morse had the overwhelming desire to thank Max for something. He wanted to thank him for always being straight with him and for never treating him like he was odd. He wanted to thank him for always taking him seriously and for being clever enough to understand him when no one else did. He should thank him again, as he had in the past, for being his own personal casualty unit on the multiple occasions he'd needed it. There were also the times they'd sat and talked or listened to music when Morse simply didn't want to be alone or when he'd been slighted. Max freely gave of his company, even if it was simply to be silent and present. Morse knew that he'd probably used him a bit without meaning to, in his own need to cling to any kindness offered. He'd apologize for it if he thought Max would accept it. At the very least he wanted to thank him for inviting him to this party, for politely hinting to him since Christmas that he should attend, and for knowing that this perhaps was just the sort of thing he needed right now.

As usual he found that words about his own intricate emotional state simply eluded him. His mouth opened and no words came so instead he glanced at Max and found himself startled into light laughter because that unlit cigarette now hung from the doctor's lips and Max, with his adorable red ears, was frisking himself rather sloppily for a lighter that he didn't seem to have.

Somewhere someone yelled, _"FIVE MINUTES!"_

Morse leaned in to offer his own lighter and the need to share and confess passed away with a warm wave of affection. He cupped the flame from the wind so Max could take a deep drag, the fire illuminating and reflecting in the shorter man's glasses. The lighter was tucked away once more but the leaning had turned into a much more mutual arrangement.

Max settled against the railing next to Morse, pressed side to side and shoulder to hip. He looked out at the view like the king of the castle. If he felt like one, Morse was certain he deserved it, tonight of all nights. The party was a success.

Morse watched the glow of the cigarette cherry, a luminous circle of red in the dark, as it flared and dimmed and pulled away from Max's lips. Once more dangling from Debryn's fingers, Morse gave in to a rare temptation and plucked it away for himself. The doctor only lifted a brow and watched as he took a slow drag. Morse's eyes closed to savor the taste and feel before the smoke drifted out from his nostrils and lips.

The pair of them had achieved enviable heights in their usual piss-taking of one another but here they stood in a very comfortable silence. Personal walls had crumbled bit by bit over the last few months and in light of the evening's relaxation, dissolved the rest of the way with a heady solution of alcohol and unspoken understandings.

"Thought you might have a meaningful word for me, Morse. Crisp evening air, the sounds of revelry and nothing but a night sky above us. Something to inspire you after this year?" Debryn's smile lacked its usual teasing and was instead lined with cautious care. The doctor had turned to face him more fully but remained tucked close to Morse's side. His hand had found its way around the policeman's elbow once more, curled through the crook and warmly secure. The disappearance of personal space felt natural. It was comfortable. Companionable. Nice.

_"Two minutes!"_

Morse smiled wanly for a brief second and offered the cigarette back. Being watched while he smoked had him sporting his own blush over those freckled cheeks.

"I'm sure I could dig deep for you, Max," He closed his eyes and searched through the scotch induced mental fog for something useful to say. It was easier than talking about how his year had progressed, certainly.

" _Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every new year find you a better man_ ," His voice was low but rang clear.

Max snorted, "I dare say, we're already failing at the first."

"But cracking at the second," Morse bowed further towards his companion with a small laugh and nudged him.

" _ONE MINUTE!_ " Came from down below.

Smoking was resumed in silence, content to listen to growing cacophony of the neighborhood as the New Year countdown finally began.

_30… 29... 28..._

Max blew smoke into the air, _"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice. And to make an end is to make a beginning."_

_15… 14… 13..._

Morse was getting swept up in the mood and energy and Max's words struck him poignantly. As the seconds ticked away the noise grew louder until the surrounding volume made any more talk impossible. The pair of them joined in on the counting at _Ten. Nine. Eight._

Morse gave Max a smile as they counted in communion and with the unity of the holiday, the entirety of Oxford soon erupted into a roar of, _"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"_

Morse bent nearly in half to watch the party goers pouring out into the street. Noisemakers rattled and people kissed. A firecracker popped some ways up the block and he heard the delighted shrieks of children who got to stay up late for the occasion.

The pair of men remained above, nothing but silhouettes to anyone who may have looked, in their own little section of the universe where their own new year came a few minutes slower.

Morse looked at the the doctor, watched him a quiet moment, and again felt a bit overwhelmed. He logically knew that alcohol had greased some social wheels for him tonight and as a result his well cloaked feelings had slipped to the fore, but it didn't make them any less genuine. Morse didn't need much to be led by his emotions, particularly those of an amorous nature. It was often to his detriment, but not now. Whatever he was feeling, whatever his focus on Max meant, he knew it wasn't misguided.

"I'm sure you know the New Year kiss dates back to Ancient Rome. The Festival of Saturnalia-," Morse noted to the doctor.

"To solidify relationships and bonds going into the new year," Debryn agreed with a skeptical glance, "Never to be forced, for fear of the opposite. Thankfully my parties never quite reach the Roman level. What might people say?"

They now pressed closer than the confines of the balcony dictated. Debryn's hand had moved from being curled around Morse's elbow to resting lightly on his lower back and his head nearly rested against Morse's shoulder. It was hard to describe the charge in the air between them, very sudden and not unnoticed. The feeling caused them both to look at one another at the same time, to lean in close enough that their foreheads touched.

"I'm not one of your beautiful things, Morse," It was a warning, murmured as their eyes locked and Morse knew what he meant. He wasn't to be treated like all those things he fell for, those pretty girls, the passing strangers, the fads. Debryn's whisper was tinged with a self-deprecation that Morse wasn't used to hearing from him. If it had been intended to ward him off, it instead did the opposite. To think the doctor would lack any sort of confidence when faced with Morse… Well, it was hopelessly charming. He also knew that this was different, and didn't need to be told not to abuse it.

" _Beauty is an experience, nothing else_ ," Morse replied softly and turned so their noses bumped lightly, affectionately. "Besides, it's for good luck."

"Well," Max relaxed to the light touch like he'd been starved for it. It brought out his smile once more. Whatever reluctance he'd felt had gone fast, "We could certainly use as much of that as we can get."

Morse couldn't help a laugh and even as their lips finally met he was smiling. It was a good kiss, a happy one, nothing too long or too passionate. It was full and warm and sent an electrical ripple from his head to his toes. Both remained smiling when they broke apart with the taste of booze and cigarettes and one another on their lips.

Below them singing had started and when they finally parted still pressed close, they took hands and joined, _"Should auld acquaintance be forgot…"_

**Author's Note:**

> This started as part of something bigger but I don't know if that will be fully realized, so I made this it's own thing because I liked it too much not to share!
> 
> Both Endeavour and Inspector Morse sort of imply that Max Debryn is a much more social creature than we ever fully realize through Morse's very specific lens. We also see them both smoking in various episodes, so I couldn't ignore that.
> 
> The working title of this was 'Fireworks', which didn't stick but I associate this song with it.
> 
> Mitski - Fireworks || https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H1gUHiDIPW4
> 
>  
> 
> _I will be married to silence_  
>  _The gentleman won't say a word_  
>  _But you know, oh you know in the quiet he holds_  
>  _Runs a river that'll never find home_


End file.
